A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! I am posting two chapters today as a special Valentine treat. Thank you so, so much to everyone who is following this story and to everyone who has reviewed, especially those of you who are guest reviewers who I couldn't thank individually. Seriously, you all are amazing. Someone asked how long this story will be- it is fifteen chapters long, about 35,000 words. I'd say we're just about at the halfway point now.
xxx
Lisbon dumped her bag on the couch when she got into the apartment. The place was small and shabby, but it was quiet and far from her own place, so she figured it would suit her needs. She drew the blinds and then eagerly unzipped the bag Grace had packed for her. There was a note on top. It read:
"L—Here are a few things for you. Not your usual style, but J said you have to look as unlike yourself as possible if you have to go out. He insisted on helping. I'm sure he's going to sneak a couple things in here when I'm not looking, but I suppose that's to be expected. I hate this, but maybe it will be worth it if we can finally end this whole thing. Stay safe. I'm worried about you. This should go without saying, but… we have your back. Always. – G."
To her horror, Lisbon found herself somewhat choked up by this hastily scrawled note, and she turned her attention to the contents of the bag to distract herself. She rifled through it, wrinkling her nose at several short, flouncy skirts which in her opinion would be much better suited to someone fifteen years younger than herself. She found exactly one pair of jeans… which had something pink and sparkly sewn along the edges of the back pockets. These were apparently meant to be worn with one of the many skimpy tank and halter tops included in the duffel. Ugh. Jane had definitely had a hand in picking these clothes out. The choice of wardrobe had his fingerprints all over it. She had no doubt that he would find the thought of her dressing up in these ridiculous clothes highly amusing.
The bag also contained a baseball cap, a pair of large sunglasses, a blonde wig and brown contact lenses, in case she needed to go out. She tried them on and checked out her reflection in the hall mirror. She made a face when she saw herself. The brown eyes weren't so bad, but it was disconcerting looking into her own reflection and seeing a stranger's eyes staring back. Worse, she looked absolutely terrible as a blonde. The color made her look pale and washed out instead of merely… sun-challenged. The sight of herself was an outward reminder of the need to stay hidden, and she found the whole experience more depressing than a silly wig should have been able to make her feel.
It wasn't really the wig, of course. It was just that all the subterfuge was making her feel acutely aware of her isolation from the rest of the team. Okay, so she wasn't exactly a social butterfly at the best of times, but she was used to being at the center of the action where her team was concerned, and she hadn't even spoken to any of them directly since this whole thing had started. Despite all their precautions, she felt vulnerable, exposed. She was used to operating with backup at her flanks at all times, and now she couldn't even call the office to get a status update. So, yeah, it wasn't the wig, but it sure as hell wasn't helping.
She returned to the duffel bag. More trashy clothes… she was going to kill Jane. Then she came across a Spice Girls CD tucked in a side pocket. Jane, again. She smiled despite herself. He could be sweet when he wanted to be. Maybe she wouldn't kill him after all.
She found a gift wrapped box at the bottom of the bag with a shiny red bow on the top which had been slightly crushed by the rest of the contents of the bag. She opened it hesitantly, since she was sure it was from Jane, and she was suspicious of something disgusting popping out at her like a jack in the box. His peculiar sense of humor had taught her to be wary of things in attractive packages.
Once she opened it, however, she fell upon the contents like a desert wanderer coming upon an oasis.
He'd given her a gun. A Sig Sauer p230, to be precise. She picked it up and felt the balance of it in her hand. That wasn't all, though. Beneath the gun, there was a burner phone taped to the bottom of the box, along with a charger. She turned it on and found it pre-programmed with four unfamiliar phone numbers, which apparently belonged to 'Iceman,' 'Big Foot,' 'Ginger,' and 'The Great Zambini.' She felt tears unexpectedly pricking her eyes. God, she was pathetic. Crying over a gun and a phone. It was just… he knew her so well. He knew exactly how she would feel when she got to this place, even when she had no idea herself how she would be affected, and he had sent her the two things that would make her feel safe and connected once again. Plus the Spice Girls CD. He really could be so damn sweet sometimes.
A soft knock on the door startled her out of her reverie. She picked up the gun and went to the door, checking the peephole with her heart hammering in her chest.
She breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door when she saw who it was.
Cho stood before her, his head lowered under a black baseball cap and his hands shoved in his pockets.
He came in without a word, and she closed the door behind him. She was so glad to see him that she threw her arms around him without even thinking about it.
She froze, remembering belatedly that neither of them were exactly known for being huggers, and that Cho was approximately the last person on the planet who would be comfortable being on the receiving end of a hug from his boss under the best of circumstances.
To her surprise, though, he didn't pull back immediately; instead, he hugged her back.
She let him go, clearing her throat. "Sorry," she said uncomfortably. "I'm just… really glad to see you."
Cho's expression didn't flicker. "Me, too. I'm glad you're all right."
"Is Jane okay?" she asked, hoping he'd have some news that Melanie might not have been privy to.
"All I can say is, you'd better outlive him. If he can act like this when you're only pretending to be dead, I can't imagine what he'd be like if you actually died."
She tried to brush this comment off. "Well, he's quite the actor."
He shook his head. "You didn't see him, after. Nobody's that good, unless there's something real at the heart of it."
Why was everyone choosing this opportunity to imply to her that Jane had some kind of profound emotional attachment to her? Like it was relevant to anything. They just didn't know he was capable of pretending anything when it came to Red John.
She didn't know what to say to this, so she moved on. "Everyone else all right?"
He shrugged. "As well as can be expected." He hesitated. "It's been hard," he said at last.
To hear stoic Cho, of all people, who was the type of person who didn't complain when he got hit by a car, acknowledge the strain that this whole thing was putting on all of them was unsettling.
She changed the subject. "Any leads?"
"Not much. The parachute and that doll were clean. No fingerprints, no DNA. The doll was painted with red nail polish. Kind of a play on what he does with the actual victims, we think, you know, painting their toes with their own blood. We tried to lock down the park, but all we came up with was about twenty people who saw Jane shoot you. By the time everything was cordoned off, Red John was long gone. We did find a toy helicopter in one of the garbage cans at the west end of the park that Jane thinks was used to drop the parachute on you guys."
"Guess Jane was right about that, at least," Lisbon said, trying to feel encouraged that Jane's insight into the killer was spot on occasionally, when it wasn't completely, disastrously wrong. She hoped her own plan didn't fall into the latter category, for all their sakes. "Mel told me the FBI took over the Red John case. Has Darcy been keeping you in the loop?"
"Not exactly. She's been keeping Wainwright informed, and he's been passing the information to us. I get the sense that she doesn't trust the rest of us as far as she can throw us."
"Fair enough," Lisbon said with a sigh. It was inconvenient, but she could hardly blame Darcy. She probably would have done the same thing, in her shoes.
"We processed everything from the scene ourselves, but we have to turn over everything to the FBI at the end of the week."
The evidence being turned over to the FBI meant that new people, new eyes would be looking at it, looking for inconsistencies, suggestions that the evidence might have been tampered with. Like, for example, bloodstains that were from a dead chicken and a dead body that was supposed to be lying in the morgue that was presently up and walking around Sacramento. "That's… not good."
"Yeah. We've got it covered, though. Van Pelt is switching out some of the evidence from when you were shot by O'Laughlin. We should be good."
"God. I'm so sorry you guys are having to do this."
"It'll be worth it, if it keeps you safe."
Seriously, she hadn't nearly cried this many times in one day for over twenty years. "Cho, I…"
"I know."
"Really."
"I know."
She leaned back and looked at him. "When all this is over…"
"Yeah."
"Seriously. I owe you all big time."
"You can buy us a steak dinner."
"Forget dinner, I'm going to have to buy you all new cars. Nice ones."
"Steak dinner for Rigsby's gonna set you back about that much, anyway."
"You guys are the best, you know that? It really means a lot to me, what you've done for me and Jane."
"Don't mention it." He checked his watch. "Listen, I have to go. We can't risk me being seen in this neighborhood while you're here."
"I know. Thanks for coming."
"I shouldn't have come at all. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."
"I'm glad you did," she said, her voice full with emotion.
He scrubbed his hand over his face. "Just… figure it out, quick, okay, boss? It sucks there without you."
She nodded, knowing what a vain promise she was making, and knowing he knew it, too.
